


Weightless Possibilities

by Boris_the_Belligerent



Category: Social Network (2010), Spider-Man (Movieverse), The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Cherik!Age Difference, Cherik!Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Eduardo Saverin!Peter Parker, Facebook, Humor (As of Now), M/M, Multi, Narrating Wristwatch, Plot Progression through Dialogue, Possible OC, Unresolved (Sexual) Tension, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boris_the_Belligerent/pseuds/Boris_the_Belligerent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because "The Social Network" would've been a legit tragic love story if Eduardo Saverin hadn't been bitten by a lethally radioactive spider, and thus, obtained <i>groovy</i> superhuman abilities, and thus- as one would anticipate- earned a visit from the co-founders of Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters.</p><p> </p><p>Canon better lawyer up, asshole. Because I'm not AU-ing one fandom, I'm AU-fusing THREE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Powers and Punches

**Author's Note:**

> A kind note to thee:  
> Expect a plotcake sugar-coated with complex frosting, and layers and layers of twists and turns.
> 
> Ye be warned:  
> To Cherik fans: Never heard of 'The Social Network'? Failure of comprehension shall ensue!
> 
> To TSN fans: What? 'X-Men: First Class'? What sorcery is this!?
> 
> To Cherik/TSN fans: Offspring of Chuck Norris. You're doing it right.
> 
>    
> No, I've never watched 'The Amazing Spider-Man'. And you haven't either (unless you're Chuck Norris... If so, fuck). So let us, for the time being, content ourselves with a fanfic.
> 
>   
> **:: :: :: Disclaimer :: :: ::  
>  I own nothing. Except the idea. Which costs nothing and, therefore, is priceless. **   
> 
> 
>   
> 

Approximately fifteen minutes ago, a coin changed his perspective about the limitations of gravity.

“Can you just give me a moment…?”

A minute later, the thick, tempered steel barrier of his business confidence and demeanor deteriorated into debris of nothingness.

 “I just—”

Seven minutes after which, an army of migraines declared a nuclear war with his brain.

“I just need to…”

His watch was clasped loose on the wrong wrist, and it bombarded the dead air in the room with loud, condescending ticks. Snidely, it told him it was now 8:05 am and, at exactly 8:06, it confidently assured him that he would be nursing a mental breakdown.

Eduardo’s watch never lied to him.

Unfortunately.

With about 30 ticks left before his personal Armageddon, Eduardo succumbed to the forced request of his eyelids and allowed them to shut.

The coin proceeded with its business and floated above the table while its constant twirling gained an impossible speed.

By the eighth tick, he gulped the pool of saliva building in his mouth to ease up the hard knot blocking his throat. On the tenth, he inhaled a cloud of oxygen and swallowed it down.

As the 30th came, the headache was spot-on.

“Better?” The question floated lazily in the stoic air with a rigid accent and an indifferent tone.

Eduardo contemplated.

Three ticks of his watch later, he nodded and shook his head. The non-verbal equivalent of ‘I don’t fucking know’.

“I’m assuming you find this meeting peculiar.” Said the man with evident boredom.

An overpowering desire to flip the finger to this intimidating and seemingly disturbed character who claimed to be a campus doctor coursed through the last thin surface of Eduardo’s composure.

“I find this meeting incomprehensible, more like.” Eduardo answered conversationally, ignoring the hysterical note drumming from his tone, and instead giving an acceptable nod as he considered his answer.

It was possibly the first sensible and honest thing that came out of his mouth since he’d woken up two hours ago.

“Would you like me to elaborate further?” The man tried instead, although a bit mockingly and with a tinge of venom in his voice.

“N-no.” Eduardo rapidly shook his head. “No. I don’t need an elaboration. I—I get what you’re trying to say. I get the product. I understand the mechanics of it. What I can’t get through –” Eduardo frantically tapped a finger on his temple – “is _why_ you’re selling your product to _me_.”

“I think you already have a clear idea on that part.” The man said matter-of-factly, propping an elbow against the arm of his chair and made to stretch his fingers offhandedly. Eduardo eyed the coin as it swerved lazily around each finger. “Unless you need a second glance at the newspaper arti—”

“Oh god, please don’t do that.” Eduardo snapped anxiously and punished his lower lip with a vicious bite as a pair of eyebrows rose questioningly at him.

“I’m sorry, Mr…?” Eduardo sighed and squeezed his eyes shut— a helpless attempt to recall what the man’s name was, if he’d ever mentioned it at all.

“Eisenhardt.”

“Eisenhardt.” Eduardo paused to absorb the name, given as his brain seemed to have entered a phase where its comprehension span narrowed down to gibberish.

“Mr. Eisenahardt, I think you got the wrong guy. I’m not a—a _mutant._ That thing I did in the dining hall? That was an accident. I had no intention of smacking either of the Winklevosses with a cafeteria tray. Aside from the fact that they’re more than capable of using me as a paddle and drowning me at the Charles River with a finger, I’m not the sort of guy who spends his afternoon pissing off gigantic athletes. I even apologized to them by willingly banning myself from the Pforzheimer House.” The babbling, he could allow for now. Significant points must be made.

“And if we could just be _clear_ with the article,” Inhale. Exhale. Pause. “I do not have a history with animal cruelty. The fact that it was chicken salad day had nothing, _nothing,_ to do with the accident. I can’t even see the point why they mentioned—” Sigh. Breathe. Sigh.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Talk. Asshole. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Listen.” Eduardo straightened his back and clasped his hands together upon the table, if only to put an end to its restless trembling. “Sir, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. Truly, I do, but you’re not the kind of doctor that I need. I’m not a crazy person. I’m an economics undergrad who’s currently juggling two business ventures and, at the same time, writing a course thesis. And frankly, I think I’m entitled to have mental breakdowns. However, I am prepared to admit that there is something terribly, terribly strange happening to my body—”

“You believe you’re suffering from a physical illness, Mr. Saverin?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“These changes your body is experiencing; enhanced sensory organs, improvement in strength and agility, the ability to climb walls and leap great distances—” Eduardo only barely flinched as Eisenhardt dropped a thick fold of newspaper on the table and pointed a finger on the corner of the large photo.

Hesitantly leaning in, Eduardo squinted at the large, however poorly-taken photo that dominated the front page of the Crimson. “— the aptitude to predict danger,”

An ordinary person would’ve narrowed their attention on the bizarre scene of Eduardo combatively crouching on top of a table with two of Harvard's best rowers flat on the floor, nursing faces profoundly covered in chicken (Eduardo grimaced) and dressed salad.

But the coin currently soaring circles around Eduardo’s hair reminded him that he was not in the presence of an ordinary person. Hardly. Because Eisenhardt was pointing at something that not even Eduardo, who’d stared at the damnable photo more times than his fingers and toes can count, noticed.

Dangling from one of the twins’ large hands, nearly indiscernible from the pixilated blur, were brass knuckles. Very thick brass knuckles. The sort that, if used by a 220 pound, six foot five rower, would make a handful of beach sand out of a human skull.

“Do you believe that they are side effects from a physical illness?” Eisenhardt continued once Eduardo slouched back against his chair, eyes lingering on the tiny detail of the photo that was now beginning to overshadow the whole image.

“Holy shit…”words dissolved from his lips into a helpless whisper.

“Mr. Saverin.”

Eduardo watched the finger retract from the photo. “Huh?”

“Do you think you’re sick?”

A blank look was all Eduardo could offer. Eisenhardt’s beige blazer and white button-down was in his line of vision and all Eduardo’s brain could stomach was how the combination brought out the sharpness of his figure. Despite the fact that the man looked about in the midst of his seventies.

“I really don’t know how to answer that question.” Eduardo responded and thought his tongue felt heavier.

Eisenhardt sighed. The coin dropped gracefully and stood over the newspaper.

“I understand this may be overwhelming for you, Mr. Saverin, but you possess a gift that is as much a secondary instinct to you as your constant need for oxygen. Evading it would be to repress your very nature as a _homo superior_ —”

“A what?”

“—something that you have no reason to be ashamed of.”

The blank look evolved into an incredulous stare.

“ _Ashamed_? You think I’m –” Eduardo blinked rapidly, clasping his jaws with a hand before it dropped to the floor. “Jesus, you don’t _understand_. I wasn’t born this way. Did you think that I spent my childhood jumping around buildings and hanging by ceilings?! I can’t even lift two luggages without tripping over my own two feet! I’m not _ashamed_ of it, I’m FREAKED OUT by it!” Eduardo, because his body demanded it, grated a hand against his already disheveled hair and tugged it viciously until it muted the pulsing ache bulldozing his brain cells.

Business-like be damned.

With a tired huff and a long inhale through the nose, he said, “It just so happens that, on the very same day that I finally got paired with the girl of my dreams in one of the class field trips, she decided that it would be a _spectacular_ idea to sneak in an obviously unsafe and unmaintained facility that houses insects, which, had it not for the fact that I was with her, I would’ve gladly avoided like the plague because, I _shit_ you _not_ ,” Eduardo released a humorless laugh, “I’m _arachnophobic_. And just when I thought I was gonna score with the hottest girl on campus,” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “A spider with supernatural powers bit me. On the goddamn neck, no less.”

Another humorless laugh. “How’s that for irony?”

“You find that ironic?” Eisenhardt countered with an equally humorless face. “A most unlikely phenomenon has brought you a new height of being and you find this ironic because it deterred your otherwise already non-existent chances with a human girl who doesn’t even return the interest?” Eisenhardt’s naturally intimidating eyebrows scowled at him with apparent disgust.

Eduardo’s collar gave a reprimanding squeeze and his watch scolded him with especially vicious and loud ticks.

“I swear it sounded more sensible in my head a second ago.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Saverin. Now allow me to be frank.” Eduardo silently dreaded the shade of certainty threading around Eisenhardt’s posture as the man liberated himself from the stiffly straight pose he’d been holding since he sat down and relaxed his back against the spine of the chair. “I hear your father’s a prominent man in export; investing on notorious clothing companies at a global extent.”

Eduardo gulped, possibly because of the fact that his throat and his voice were tangled between the strong need to vomit explicitly offensive words and the uncertainty of which derogatory words were best to make use of in the presence of a highly-capable mutant.

“A man of that success is not easily impressed. Easily disappointed, yes. But not easily impressed.”

It was only when a small stainless steel box floated from Eisenhardt’s inner jacket pocket and – as it was hovering – flipped open to reveal a stack of cigarettes on one side and a lighter – which also began gliding the air on its own – on the other that Eduardo cleverly decided that it was better to shut up.

“Judging from your custom-made Caraceni suit alone,” Eisenhardt plucked a stick from the container and left it dangling from between his lips. He nodded to Eduardo’s hand. “Even the Rolex titanium watch, and the Testony monk-strap shoes, he’s got quite an influence on you.”

Eduardo couldn’t help flinching as the lighter flickered itself and lit Eisenhardt’s stick with a graceful drift before resting back to the box. “I can only imagine the design of expectations he measures you with.”

“This is crazy.” Eduardo snapped, his voice broken with nerves and disbelief. “First, you ambush me in the middle of a Saturday morning, then lie to my face about being a campus doctor, then tell me some cock-and-bull about a school for _special people_ that I’ve never even heard of, then indirectly insult my appeal to girls,” With a frantic shake of the head, Eduardo gaped at Eisenhardt. “And now you’re blackmailing me because I’m refusing your _proposal_?”

“Blackmail?” A sheet of smoke emitted from Eisenhardt’s frown, floating across the skeptical wrinkle resting between the man’s brows. “Mr. Saverin, I’m simply wondering why, for the past two years, you’ve deliberately spent holidays and seasonal breaks on campus when, clearly, you have a well-endowed family and a respectable home back in Florida.”

Eduardo blinked. “How did you—”

“Is it because you’ve gotten average grades in some of your classes? Or the fact that, just last October, you’ve nearly been called forth by the university’s administrative board due to a major offense that your best friend had insistently disassociated you from?”

“Who the fu—”

“I, Mr. Saverin, am the kind of person who has delicate tolerance for people who abuse power.” Eduardo’s mouth snapped closed at the firm stare steadily directed at him. “Particularly, when it is to force others against their will.”

“My father’s not like that.” Eduardo said with locked jaws.

“The scar on your left hip says otherwise.” The lost of sensation was fast and thorough. The numbness that had lingered by the tips of his fingers was now beginning to spread rapidly until Eduardo lost the will to breathe.

“How could you know all this?”

“The same way I can manipulate metal. The same way a teleporter can travel continents in a span of a second.” Eisenhardt mashed his cig against the Crimson article, burning one of the Winklevosses’ faces to ash. “The same way a telepath can read minds.”

“But I’m not here to discuss about your father or his fatherly habits, Mr. Saverin, no matter how filthy and irrational they are.” Eisenhardt said as the box tucked itself back inside the blazer.

“No. I’m here because of you, and the remarkable abilities that you’ve miraculously obtained. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters is not some sort of disciplinary facility to make soldiers out of children. Don’t mistake us for the military.

“Our aim is simple. To school gifted individuals like yourself that withholding what you truly are is never the option. We’re not here to discipline you by force but to teach you how to control your gifts to the best of your abilities so that _you_ can discipline yourself.

“I’m not here to tell you to be a superhero, Mr. Saverin, I’m here to tell you that even an innocent man is capable of abusing power by simply not knowing how to control it.”

All Eduardo felt capable of doing was respond with an irresolute, defeated look while Eisenhardt’s voice echoed profoundly in the depths of his consciousness.

The coin began doing figures of 8’s around the Winklevosses.

Eduardo opened his mouth but what came out were constant waves of dead air. But before he found the will to speak, his phone interrupted him with its vibrating.

This would’ve been easily ignored – given the fact that Eduardo was obviously in the midst of a life-changing epiphany that would probably have a significant effect on the decisions he’d be making in the future and whatnot – except that Eduardo’s phone didn’t do a constant vibration that signaled for an ordinary text message or call.

It had a pattern.

Three dits. Three dahs. Three dits.

There were only two contacts in Eduardo’s phonebook that had that call configuration. One was the only family member he was in speaking terms with in Florida. The other.

The other was in California, whom he’s definitely beyond speaking terms with. Given that said other had gone and was now in _California._

Eduardo often reminded himself that scrambling for his phone was a habit best not brought to business meetings or formal gatherings because it simply doesn’t do any justice to one’s image. First impressions are, of course, key.

However, given as Eisenhardt had triumphantly debunked all notions of this meeting being strictly business-related, and the moment of climatic realization had already taken place just mere seconds ago, Eduardo didn’t think there was room left for anymore fireworks to rain on this completely insane parade.

So, he scrambled for his phone.

And nearly dropped it on the floor once he saw the screen.

 **_Mark Zuckerburg_  
**

Eduardo stared down at the name and felt a powerful jerk rocket from the pit of his chest to his dry throat until it transformed into a trembling gasp that flew from his parted lips.

Suddenly, every vibration that emitted from his phone weakened his hand. Made it number. Warmer. He wasn’t sure which.

Then someone spoke.

Tick. Tick. Listen. Tick. Tick.

But his watch had already accomplished five more ticks before Eduardo found the bearings to look up.

 “I said, aren’t going to take that?” It took Eduardo another five seconds before he could replant the presence of the man he’d been talking to for nearly an hour back to his consciousness.

Blinking at Eisenhardt’s raised eyebrows, Eduardo said hastily and automatically, “Excuse me, but I need to take this call.”

Once the door clicked closed and a barrier separated him from Eisenhardt and his coin, Eduardo flattened his back against the corridor wall and proceeded to stare down at the name flashing on the screen.

“Why’re you calling?” He muttered to the vibrating device that – if human – would’ve been suffocating by now from Eduardo’s solid, shaking fist.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Answer. Him! Tick.

Eduardo’s thumb hovered over the button.

Tick. He stabbed the green button.

“Mark.”

 _“Wardo.”_ Rough sounds filtered through. Eduardo squeezed his eyes shut once he realized what it was.

Mark was breathing heavily, too heavily against the speaker.

“What is it?”

 _“Wardo, I-I need you.”_   Eduardo tightened his grip on the phone to keep himself from flinging it across the hall.

“You’re in California, Mark.”

“ _No, Wardo, I –”_

“ _Mark_. I’ve got a flight to New York tomorrow morning. I’m starting my internship with Lehmans’ next week.”

“ _Wardo._ ”

“If this is about money, I can add more credit to the account.” Eduardo bit his lip and forced the question to the back of his mouth.

He was not emotionally or mentally fit to know where the 19,000 birds he’d just stashed in three weeks ago had flown to or, much less, who’d gunned them down. “Just tell me how much you need and I’ll try to—”

“Wardo _. Stop talking.”_

Eduardo sighed.

“ _I need you to listen.”_

Eduardo marvelled at his shoes. “I’m listening.”

 _“I took a flight two hours ago.”_

His shoes suddenly looked less interesting. “What? To where?”

 _“I came back.”_

Eduardo gawped at the ceiling.

“I don’t get it. Why did you—”

 _“Wardo.”_ There was a shiver running in Mark’s seemingly monotonous voice that Eduardo nearly missed had he not been practically forcing the phone against his ear.

Even through the static silence, Eduardo could see Mark pursing his lips. “ _Please don’t… make me say it again.”_

“Say what?” Eduardo asked dumbly.

When all he could hear was his own labored breaths, Eduardo checked the phone to see if the call had died.

“Mark?”

But Mark spoke before the phone left his ear. _“I need you.”_ It was said clean and straightforward; each word identically flat without a note of emphasis or urgency. Plain and simple.

But Eduardo understood.

The core difficulty that one must live with in having a best friend of demanding standards was that one would always, _always,_ know the semantics.

“Again?” Eduardo grimaced. The flaw in being adept with reading Mark’s voice and bodily gestures is that he completely sucks in controlling his own.

Mark’s trembled breathing from the other end told Eduardo that he’d caught the growl coating Eduardo’s response.

And this was what Eduardo loathed the most: when everyone else on Earth was a social obstacle for Mark, Eduardo was nothing short of a math problem to him. Mark knew the algorithm to Eduardo. He knew what every twitch of the eyebrow, every scratch on the cheek, every squint of the eyes meant.

But what was worse was that Mark was best in decoding messages that Eduardo wanted him to decipher the least.

“Where are you?”

 _“Countway. The Genetics Section.”_

“Five minutes.” Eduardo wasn’t able to press the button fast enough to overlook the tiny whimper from the other end.

Mark had whimpered.

He’d whimpered.

There was only one other time he’d heard Mark make such humanly, primitive noises.

Eduardo forced his eyelids shut and rubbed his neck desperately. It didn’t do one bit to stop the tiny hair on his nape from rising.

Freshmen year. Kirkland. Mark’s room. Mark’s bed. 11:02 pm.

Trying with great effort to purge away the ungodly images that whisper of a whimper was summoning to his thoughts, Eduardo, very thoroughly, banged the back of his head against the wall.

Mark never saw him that night.

Three long strides and Eduardo was pushing the door open.

“I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Eisenhardt, but is it possible if we could do this some other time? I’m afraid I’m needed somewhere…” Eduardo paused midsentence. It was a habit that instantly triggered when he knew his audience was intentionally not listening.

Eisenhardt’s eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes were furiously directed on the table, where the coin lay flat and unmoving upon the papers.

“Sir?”

“ _Mein Gott._ ” Eisenhardt muttered with what sounded to Eduardo exhaustion, massaging the crease that had gone heavier on his forehead. “Take me to the library.” He said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry?”

“The library, boy.” Eisenhardt snapped, rising from his chair.

Eduardo was forced to stare as the coin from the table floated swiftly and tucked itself in Eisenhardt’s breast pocket.

“Which one?” He asked bluntly.

“The one with a Genetics section in it.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Eduardo instantly regretted throwing the words at the dark look Eisenhardt shadowed him with.

“Right this way.” He said with a small voice, lowering his head as he made his way around the table and left the room.

 **  
**

**:: :: ::**

 **  
**

It was approximately a ten-minute walk from the Bagnoud building to the Countway Library. However, Eduardo’s watch expressed its defiance and thought it a ridiculous calculation.

With a confident tick, it assertively said that half the time was accomplishable.

And that Eduardo better be there in five minutes as he so self-assuredly promised.

Eduardo pointedly reminded the arrogant prick around his wrist that he needed to accompany a seventy-year-old man along the way.

His watched pointedly reminded him who’d called earlier.

And that he was bound to realize how much of a complete asshole he will be if he finds Mark pressed against a shelf with a weapon mere inches away from his baby blue eye like the first time.

Because despite the fact that Mark possessed a brain that could only be the identical twin of Bill Gates', he was still a geeky, lankly, little nerd in the eyes of anyone who’s tall and bulky as the Empire State building with a brain as immature and underdeveloped as a bird’s egg (yes, even in Harvard).

And also, his watch would like to remind him,it lofty ticked, that the seventy-year-old man he so worries about can bend metal. In any form, state or temperature.

The watch timed him.

Four minutes and fifty-six seconds.

 **  
**

**:: :: ::**

 

The fifty steps of stairs that led up to the second floor where the Biology and Genetics sections were housed was the least of Eduardo’s obstacles because, come the 50th step, Eduardo – releasing a copious gush of exhausted pants – was met by tables and rows of undergrads and graduate students all tending the same face that said, quite clearly:

DO NOT EVEN. OR MY PENS WILL FUCK HOLES THROUGH YOUR EYES.

“Shit.”

Tick.

Breathe.

Tick.

Gulp.

TICK.

 **TICK.**

“Fuck it. **_MARK!_** ”

The tornado of hissing nearly impaired Eduardo’s hearing.

“MARK ZUCKERBERG? HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?!”

“No! But wherever he is, tell him he’s still a DICK!”

“Yeah?” Eduardo said challengingly. “D’you have a facebook?”

Satisfaction drew a smirk on Eduardo’s face as the student’s eyes bulge in fear.

“I thought so.”

 “Very mature, Mr. Saverin. Now, kindly pick up your toys and go run along to the third row from the East corner, fifth from the last shelf. I believe your friend is waiting for you.” Said the voice that neither paused to breathe – which apparently wasn’t needed – nor bared any hint that its person – who was seventy and up, just so you’re reminded – travelled three blocks five minutes ago.

Eduardo’s head decided this was the proper time to shake itself in disbelief as he watched Eisenhardt reach the last stair with as much grace for lifting a teacup. “How do you do that?” he panted before jogging towards the labyrinth of shelves.

Fuck if he wanted to know the answer at all.

First row.

In the Fall of 2002, while dwindling about in the Tozzer library for books that had little to no relation at all to his course, Mark was cornered by the captain of the fencing team. Instead of a pat on the shoulder for making the team and an invitation for drinks, Mark found himself looking down at the splintered end of a Sabre. A very sharp, very splintered end of a Sabre.

Second row.

As he was nursing the thin, bleeding line across his left jaw, Mark snatched his phone and called. He said Eduardo’s name and three other words.

Third row.

The following day, the fencing captain refused to go to the clinic, despite the fact that his lip was split open and caked with gore, and much rather preferred that Eduardo have his knuckles bandaged first before he comes anywhere near the building.

First shelf.

Mark nodded off the captain’s forced apology and shrugged off the excuse that it was part of his initiation from a final club. Mark didn’t bother asking which.

Second shelf.

When the roster of fencing trainees who made the cut was posted, Mark crossed out his name from the list and brought Eduardo ice packs for two weeks. He never attended the general assembly, or any event that consisted of the fencing team for that matter.

Third shelf.

Eduardo’s knuckles healed fast. And it was all the more determined to break another muscle of human flesh.

Fourth shelf.

Even if the punching bag may be in the form of two future rowing Olympians.

Fifth shelf.

Eduardo’s feet was instantly paralyzed to the wooden floor, the two shelves narrowing his vision to a scene that had little to no similarity with the awful picture of two athletic identical twins ambushing a body half their sizes that he’d feared and expected.

The gradual crackle of the second hand shifting from 5 to 6 echoed with a resonant hum, emitting the barest of trembles upon Eduardo’s wrist as the seconds stretched before him, reverberating with each beating pulse of his heart that conquered and silenced every thump of a footstep, every scratch of pen against paper, every fluttering whip of a page being turned until Eduardo’s ears were muffled with one single, constant sound:

Tick.

9:13 am. A gush of light penetrated through the grimy glass window panel, and Eduardo’s eyesight sharpened with powerful clarity as it radiated a soft glow upon the gold and silver titles from the seemingly endless line of books down to the small, yet evident cracks that flawed the polished wooden floors — even the slightest cloud of dust particles floating about helplessly and idly by the rotting pages and abused book spines were lucid and precise through his eyes.

Eduardo had a 20/20 visual acuity. However, when it came to the point where dust particles looked an equivalent to thread balls, of which Eduardo could particularly and clearly see its threads, even a blind man would agree that that wasn’t human capacity.

But Eduardo found this no more than mildly interesting because.

Because Mark.

9:13:01 am. Eduardo’s hearing zeroed in on the rapid pounding exploding from Mark’s chest, driving blood throughout his body with such intensity that all that could escape Mark’s gaping mouth was a rush of short breaths that trembled and moistened his thin lips. Mark’s pupils were shrunk within the meshed strands of green and blue and Eduardo watched as red veins stretched from the corners of his eyes.

9:13:35 am. A bead of sweat oozed just above the anxious crease of Mark’s left eye, where curls of brown hair reached down.

Mark was nervous. Anxious. Cornered.

9:13:47 am. Two fingers, slightly wrinkled and of vanilla complexion, twirled a curl of Mark’s brown hair, as though it were relishing on its texture.

It wasn’t Mark’s hand.

9:13:49 am. The ticking that echoed through Eduardo’s ears was suddenly muffled by the hard grinding of his teeth. Eduardo gripped his hand into fists until the bones of his knuckles were jutting furiously.

He eyed the man. The man who was touching Mark’s hair.

Patches on his elbows of his coat, tidy blue cardigan,

Abnormally red lips.

Target acquired.

The ache burning from his firmly locked jaws and the punctures his nails were sinking against his palms were nothing compared to the pain about to be caused by his right fist.

9:13:59 am. “… infinite forms of variations with each generation all through –”

“Wardo?”

WHAM!

9:14 am. Target destroyed (and profoundly bleeding from the nose [combo]).

Eduardo, completely overlooking the gashes of blood staining his hand, turned to Mark and saw an expression that completely contradicted with his expectations.

“W-Wardo…” Mark’s eyes were bulging as he stared down at the man groaning on the floor. “What. The fuck.”

“You alright?” Eduardo rasped and continued to rasp as his watch and the buttons of his shirt steamed and gradually proceeded to burn his skin. “What the FUCK!”

“…Don’t, Erik. I intended to be in the receiving end of that punch…”  Said the man with a ridiculous tone – as he was pinching and holding his nose up – completely lathered with a genuinely thick accent that could only be British. “… which I now find sincerely foolish and excruciatingly painful, so save me the lecture. I’ve learned my lesson, love.” Stumbling towards the opposite shelf, the man, gasping with a silly smile, pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket only to have it snatched by Eisenhardt, who, with a stern look, spread the hankie with a flip of his wrist, tilted the man’s chin upwards and tended to the damage without a tremble.

“Quite a lethal fist you’ve got there, my friend.” The man added cheerfully as he leaned against the shelf. “Remind me never to get drunk with you in a pub.” The man giggled. Yes, giggled.

Eisenhardt began muttering something that sounded stern and only for the ears of the man, who responded with a clockwise of his eyes.

Eduardo, in the midst of desperately unclasping his watch from his wrist, froze with a gape, entirely overlooking the fact that his watch and the rest of metal on his body were beginning to cool.

“It’s official. This is the weirdest day ever. And it’s not even noon.” Eduardo directed his gape to Mark, who gave him his signature shrug, and then back to the two men, one tsking at the excessive bleeding and the dislocated bone, the other brightening the room with the largest smile.

“Okay.” Eduardo rested his lids and took a long breath. Turning to Eisenhardt, he asked “Am I hallucinating?”

But it was the man releasing a copious amount of blood that provided an ever so polite answer. “Heavens, no. You're simply encountering a most unlikely set of circumstances which, due to your lack of familiarity and normalcy schema, led you to assume that you might be, as you said, hallucinating. And, oh, please excuse my manners. Hello, my name is Charles Xavier. I'm Erik's - Eisenhardt?" Xavier said curiously, glancing at Eisenhardt before biting his lip, although it did little to hide what should've been a smile.

Eisenhardt placed more pressure with both his glare and his hands.

"I'm _his_ partner. And you must be Eduardo Saverin. It’s fairly lovely to finally meet you, Eduardo. I would shake your hand but I’m afraid it’ll be rude to do so with the amount of blood it’s covered with. But, propriety aside, may I just say that your mutation is relatively one the most interesting that we’ve come across. The origin of your abilities alone is simply extraordinary! Amongst all the beautifully gifted individuals we’ve met during the decades, Erik and I have never stumbled upon on one such whose mutation stemmed through a seemingly infectious injury, which, in all honesty, is very, _very_ groovy.”

Eduardo, still preserving his ‘WTF’ face, couldn’t help but share another glance with Mark who, in turn, pulled on his ‘IDFK’ expression.

“Groovy?” Eduardo mumbled the word and stored it in his brain under the filename ‘alien language’.

“Alright, stop frightening the children, Charles. You need to be taken to the clinic. The damn boy has completely fractured your nose.”

“Oh, but Erik—”

“No. You can talk to them as much as you want later, when you’re not bleeding a fountain of blood on the floor.” Eisenhardt scowled down at the drops of red on his shoes before doing a light whistle.

Somewhere in the near shelves, a book was snapped shut. The following sound – a penetrating hiss – resulted into a man with skin as red as the blood coating half of Xavier’s face.

Eduardo stared down at his backside.

There, he found a tail. An arrow-shaped tail.

“I leave you for five minutes.” Eduardo heard the red man say piteously with twice a thicker accent. Xavier chuckled and did a shrug.

“Take us to the clinic.” Eisenhardt said.

“Erik, the boys?”

“Mr. Saverin.”

It took Eduardo’s watch two and a half ticks before Eduardo managed to pluck away his eyes from the tailed rear.

“What?” Dumbly, he asked.

“Is there somewhere we can continue our discussion privately?”

Eduardo, regretfully, blurted the first thought that linked to the word 'private'.

“Kirkland house. H33.”

Eisenhardt gave him a slight nod before turning to the red man and muttering something distinctly non-English.

Eduardo, who'd been sneaking looks at the large blood stains on Xavier's attire, felt an apology rising from his throat until he found Xavier's bright, twinkling eyes staring softly at him, a slight curve on one corner of his lips. "It's alright. I understand." Xavier said tenderly, although his lips never once moved.

Eduardo touched his forehead at the cool touch of comfort spreading over his headache. He looked up at Xavier, who gave him a wink.

Xavier's eyes had shifted to Eduardo's left once Eisenhardt focused back on the injury. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mark."

The slight creak on the floor told Eduardo that Mark only (could only) answer with an awkward shift of a foot, and maybe a stiff nod.

The red, tailed man turned to Xavier. "Ready?"

Xavier took a long breath before shaking his head 'yes'. The red man gave Eduardo and Mark a speculative glance before holding both Eisenhardt's and Xavier's arm.

9:23 am. Eduardo, after thirty ticks, finally turned to Mark who was staring down at the spot where three men had just dissolved into a cloud of sulfur with a face that looked to be attempting to solve the precise longitude and latitude of the universe.

“I can explain.” Eduardo said.

Mark directed his calculating glare to him.

“You should. After all, you just told three complete strangers – Satan possibly being one of them – where my dorm room is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, criticism, and kudos are welcome and encouraged.
> 
> Beta'd? No, for you must realize that, although I am an elder in the practice of reading fanfics, writing a completely flawless fanfic is but a dream that I will hopelessly pursue with my infant imagination.
> 
> However, should a jedibeta take me as their apprentice, I shall forever be honored, dear lady/sir.


	2. Of Arguments and Agreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because "The Social Network" would've been a legit tragic love story if Eduardo Saverin hadn't been bitten by a lethally radioactive spider, and thus, obtained groovy superhuman abilities, and thus- as one would anticipate- earned a visit from the co-founders of Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters.
> 
>  
> 
> Canon better lawyer up, asshole. Because I'm not AU-ing one fandom, I'm AU-fusing THREE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **:: :: :: Disclaimer :: :: ::  
>  I own nothing. Except the idea. Which costs nothing and, therefore, is priceless. **   
> 
> 
>   
> 

Eduardo was beginning to wonder if his brain was starting to grow a masochistic taste because in the following hour, as they were silently making their way to the deserted dorm house, the prickling pain in his head made a come back and, after a full forty-five minutes trying to explain things to Mark, suffocated him to a gradual torture.

The two cold bottles of Beck’s he’d been pressing against each temple for the past five minutes only accomplished an uncomfortable numb skull, and didn't, as he'd hoped, block out the loud, continuous tapping bombing the room.

His watch swore to him that it had nothing to do with it. Eduardo, despite its honesty, removed it from his wrist and tucked it in his pocket.

Mark hadn’t spoken during the talk. In fact, the only sound he made after he'd given Eduardo a thoughtful nod and walked back to his room was a cycle of tap, tap, tap, pause, tap, pause, tap, tap.

It blossomed Eduardo an idea. An idea which consisted of smashing Mark's keyboard to pieces right in front of him. Eduardo could just imagine Mark's face, muffling the his probably histerical laugh with a snort.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, pause, tap.

Once it became too unbearable, Eduardo, with an irritated groan, mustered the composure he had left and rose from the couch.

Mark’s eyes were enamored to the screen, fingers jumping fast and rapid upon the keyboard.

Eduardo snatched the bottle opener from the mantelpiece, and put the alcohol he had to better use. He might as well.

He greeted Mark by throwing the beer cap at menace of a keyboard. One hand paused from typing and flicked off the cap from the keyboard before proceeding to attack the keys with horrendously fast pace.

Eduardo stared down at him and took a swig. Mark stared at the screen.

“Mark, what’re you doing?”

“Fixing a bug.”

“Did you hear what I said earlier?”

“Yes. You just asked me what I was doing.”

Eduardo squeezed his eyes shut to cushion the mental truck that was currently driving tire tracks against his brain. He dragged his feet and sat himself on the bed.

Mark’s bed.

Eduardo took three gulps from his bottle and fisted his hair with a hand.

“Mark.” He breathed. “I just told you about the fact that I can climb walls and ceilings with my bare hands, that I’ve single-handedly trashed the Winklevoss twins with a tray three days ago.”

“Have you seen the site?”

Eduardo gawked. “What?”

“The site, Wardo.  We’ve generated twelve new apps, the header looks way better than before, the search engine is more flexible and the Wall, you gotta check out the Wall—”

“Jesus, Mark!” Eduardo snapped. “Can you just forget about the site first and just listen to me for ONE SECOND?”

The tapping stopped. Eduardo breathed a sigh of relief as the sound died.

Mark wheeled the chair 180 degrees and aimed Eduardo an unreadable look that brought out the dark, heavy bags beneath his eyes – an ugly indication that Mark had grown back on a ritual of sleepless nights and midday naps. Eduardo felt a hole expand in his chest as he glared back at the shadowed eyes that seemed to have swallowed all the long months Eduardo had work vigorously on in keeping Mark’s sleeping patterns in line.

 “Forget about the site—”

“YES. FORGET ABOUT THE SITE BECAUSE I NEED YOU RIGHT HERE. RIGHT NOW.”

Mark continued his silent stare.

“Fine.” Mark slouched against his chair, his eyes chained with Eduardo’s. “What do you need me to say?”

Eduardo felt his eyes grow helpless at Mark’s blank look. “What?”

“What would you like me to say? Because, frankly speaking, I don’t know how to react to this kind of situation.”

It was often a moment of misinterpretation that many had fallen to. Mark appeared to be the least interested or concerned and had Eduardo finished his first bottle and started with the second, he would’ve probably walked out and left Mark with his own devices as he was so seemingly hoping for.

However, semantics dictate otherwise, forcing Eduardo to leave his bottle on the floor half finished. He regarded Mark detail by detail, starting with Mark’s hands, which were fumbling with each other, playing with the bits of skin by the corner of his nails; a cover to hide the nervous fidgeting.

Then he found Mark’s lips, the lower currently being bitten and chewed on, because Mark had an unconscious habit of gaping when he’s faced with awkward circumstances that made him feel helpless and useless.

The final point of evidence was Mark’s eyes and its struggling attempt to keep a firm stare on Eduardo. Eduardo watched as Mark continued to look back at him then down to Eduardo’s socked feet, then shifting to Eduardo’s right shoulder, then, with a slight flutter of the eyelids, to his throat until it regained the courage to look back at Eduardo’s eyes.

Eduardo released the air swelling his lungs, inhaled through the nose, and scratched irritably the tingling on his nape.

His eyes were lowered to the littered floor of beer caps when he muttered, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... shouted…” Eduardo closed his eyes. “Mark, I just need someone to talk to.” He confessed.

The hesitation, as Mark opened his mouth and instantly bit it close, was evident. He allowed himself a minute, of which time Eduardo silently watched Mark’s thoughtful face.

“Could you show me?” Mark said instead.

Eduardo’s hand froze midway to his bottle. “Show you what?”

Mark only gave him a plain nod.

The beer continued to stand on the floor forgotten as Eduardo entwined his fingers together, barely suppressing his surprise when he felt the delicately rough brush of thorny hair rising from the mere request Mark made.

“Are you sure?” It was difficult to guess whom Eduardo was addressing the uncertainty to, and Mark seemed to share the thought.

“Is it contagious?” Mark asked doubtfully.

“No. It’s just—” But even Eduardo couldn’t find suitable words to properly explain and settled, instead, for a defeated sigh. “Nothing. Just— don’t freak out.” Apparently, as Mark continued to answer him with a calculating look, words were intentionally failing Eduardo.

Facing the wall by the window where the telltales of his Facemash equation were nothing more than white, vague smudges, Eduardo’s throat began to be clogged with an acid feeling of nausea that reached down to his stomach.

He passed a glance at Mark and instantly regretted it. The picture of Mark’s complete attention being served to him through those wide, blue eyes did little to help his breathing.

Mark’s attention was like jewels– it was difficult to catch and certainly laborious to sustain its brightness, but, most of all, it was a precious find that rarely chance upon Eduardo’s path.

Eduardo forced his lungs to calm as he spread a hand against the plain wall. The moment his skin made contact, the miniscule spikes penetrated the concrete.

Breathe.

He stretched his other hand to a higher level and felt the tiny claws clung instantly. Releasing all his hesitations through a breath and inhaling deeply, Eduardo stretched his left hand higher. Then his right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.

One note of difference that was evident to Eduardo as he reached the corner was that the ceiling – swathed with a thin layer of dust and (Eduardo rolled his eyes) spider webs – was no less a shine of marble as Mark’s floor.

As he reached the center of the ceiling, Eduardo exhaled the air he’d trapped in his throat since the first crawl up and paused. The ticking from his pocket echoed to his ears as his eyes fixed closely upon a patch of paint cracks, flawing the area beside the dead light bulb that glinted from the ray of midday light that stretched from the window.

Eduardo shut his eyes, not from the light, but from the anticipation for sound.

The only drop of sound that entered his ears was the ticking and the breathing.

Mark’s breathing quivered, lacing with Eduardo’s winded breaths.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

After reprimanding himself how ridiculous it was to try to decipher Mark’s thoughts through loose air, Eduardo closed his eyes and turned his body swiftly. Flattening his palms, his back and his feet against the cooling cement ceiling, Eduardo opened his eyes and looked down at the room.

And found the largest smile he’d ever seen on Mark’s face.

Eduardo was instantly breathless. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Mark held his smile. His eyes couldn’t have been any bluer as he stared up at Eduardo. “You’re sitting on the ceiling.”

A flutter of warmth crawled from Eduardo’s neck to his face. “Yeah.”

“That’s amazing.” Mark said simply, slowly shaking his head with a look that gripped Eduardo’s chest with a tender squeeze. It was the same look that Mark kept for hours on the day the site went live, the only other time Eduardo had seen him so engulfed with genuine delight.

Not even Mark’s orgasm face could surpass that look.

“Yeah.” Was all Eduardo could manage. The unexplainable feeling warping his insides was so overpowering that Eduardo had to forcefully press his hands upon the ceiling as his fingers itched to scratch the slight tickles springing from his nape.

His efforts were, however, futile when a penetrating hiss suddenly rebounded from the other room and startled Eduardo to the point of falling.

“Wardo!”

The last Eduardo saw as he squeezed his eyes shut to prepare for impact was the fear that replaced Mark’s smiling face.

The startling sound repeated and died down with an echo until it was replaced by voices.

Eduardo, however, was too paralyzed on the spot he’d landed on to recognize or, much less, notice the voices.

“Are you sure this is the room?”

“Yes, love. I can sense them from right across that door… Oh, Erik, wait! I don’t think you should –”

A confident succession of footsteps echoed closer, resulting into a mid-step pause on Mark’s doorway.

“Oh, am I interrupting anything?” No one seemed able to respond to Eisenhardt.

Because both Eduardo’s mind and matter had confined its full awareness on the body pressed beneath him. With complete clarity, Eduardo instantly sensed the hands that were clutching his shoulders tightly, the hip his right hand had landed on, the heaving chest that his left had spread upon, and the pair of legs between his own. But they were but insignificant points of contact if compared to the neck his face was resting on, or the tender surface of skin grazing his lips, or the fading hint of aftershave wafting through his nose.

“Wardo?” The hands gently held him away until Eduardo’s face was a short proximity above Mark’s, which was nursing a worried frown. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” It took Eduardo a moment before he recalled how the universe had managed to place him on a spot so unlikely. “Oh shit! I fell on you, are you alright?” Eduardo’s eyes darted from portion to portion of Mark, until his vision caught the man standing by the door.

Eisenhardt’s face was smug and intimidating, not to mention, out of timing enough to have Eduardo yelp and scramble off Mark, his long limbs failing him and landing him gracelessly on the floor.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Eduardo unthinkably said.

“I find that hard to believe, Mr. Saverin. However, given the circumstances, I must demand your full attention to the matter in hand. We really don’t have all day.” Eisenhardt made to return back to the main room, his voice drumming the walls as he casually called back, “You can indulge on your little romance later.”

Eduardo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep himself from further noticing the growing migraine (and let us overlook the sudden awakening between his legs) and Mark’s dubious reaction.

“Romance?” Mark blinked with the most oblivious crease on his eyebrows.

 **  
**

**:: :: ::**

 **  
**

 

The next hour was no less tiresome or merciless to Eduardo as the morning that had passed and gone. When it appeared that the burdening day was far from ending, Eduardo was left with little choice but to kill all outside communication and turn off his phone, which he proceeded to fumble with (just to busy his hands) as the two men continued their one-sided discussion.

“So, let me sum this up.” Eduardo stared at the two men, one sitting on the chair with a smile, the other standing by the mantelpiece with a cigarette on hand.

“You want me to drop out of Harvard, talk to my parents about enrolling into your _school,_ and go and live with you in New York for the next—” Eduardo gave an exaggerated shrug. “— decade or so?”

It wasn’t at all comforting to Eduardo as a minute passed silently with only an exchange of a thorough look transpiring between the two men. Xavier’s smile seemed to have lost its jovial stretch, his eyebrows creasing with evident doubt when Eisenhardt, as Eduardo chanced a peek at him, rested dark, disapproving eyes that, accompanied by a rigid shake of his head, told Eduardo enough that the two men were in the midst of a silent argument and Eduardo was right in the middle of it without even an idea of how they could understand each other through the simplest twitch of an eyebrow or lip.

“Eduardo… Is it alright if I call you Eduardo?” After receiving a nod, Xavier went on with a slight smile. “Eduardo, please allow me to assure you that we’re not here to force a decision. We’re simply offering you an alternative, an alternative that has no other purpose but to benefit you. Now, there’s very little for you to worry about with regard to your education. I guarantee that the school’s faculty is more than qualified to take over and assist you with your studies. However, we do allow our students to continue their studies outside of the school if they so choose under the condition that they’re properly capable of handling their powers independently—”

“A condition that we strictly observe with a series of trials.” Eisenhardt interrupted, earning himself a hard look from Xavier.

“You have to understand, Eduardo, that we’re not only considering your safety but the safety of the people around you. The trials substantiate that you are fully mindful of your abilities and can control them independently.”

“You’re saying I might be a risk to other people?” Eduardo asked.

“We’re not simply saying it, boy, we’re sure of it.” Eisenhardt answered.

“Okay. Then I have a better idea. Why don’t you guys just help me get rid of it? You know, find a cure.” Eduardo suggested.

The answer wasn’t kindly spoken as Eduardo had expected. Instead, it came in a form of a burst of heat from his pocket, a trail of unforgiving temperature from the buttons and the cufflinks of his shirt, and a glare that scorched far lighter than the unfinished cig that was now being crushed against the mantelpiece.

Xavier struggled to his feet with a gasp obscured by Eduardo’s hiss as he felt for his burning watch and threw it on the floor, then proceeded to shred apart his top until red, hot buttons flung all around the coffee table.

The indignant retort was inches away from his tongue until Eduardo’s eyes landed on Xavier and his strained face as he walked— no, limped towards what was beginning to appear as a man with a foreboding need to spill blood.

“Erik –”

“No.”

Despite the height of senses that continued to lead him in less than favorable circumstances, Eduardo couldn’t help a shocked stare, because even in a scenery that concerned him the least, Mark never failed to steal the room’s attention with a spectacular feat of little effort.

“What?” A question of which was beginning to dominate and possibly conquer the rest of Eduardo’s vocabulary.

“You’re not getting rid of your powers.” Mark had said it with pure simplicity as he’d rebuffed earlier.

“Excuse me, Mark, but I don’t think you really have a say in this.” Eduardo spat back but Mark was already pulling his sleeve and leading him back to his bedroom.

Before the door was shut, the last Eduardo was able to see was Xavier pressing his fingers against his temple whilst leaning closely against Eisenhardt, whose hand was softly yet desperately clutched on a bunch of Xavier’s brown hair, their faces mimicking each other’s troubled expressions.

“Mark, I think something’s wrong with them.” Eduardo said, a drum of worry trembling in his voice but Mark seemed to have lost interest on the other room’s occupants.

“Wardo, I think you should go with them.”

It was a combination of words that formed very little sense once Eduardo repeated it in his head for a series of five cycles. He stared at Mark in all his normalcy and simplicity and wished silently that he’d grown another head just so Eduardo could justify how completely deranged and unbelievable Mark appeared to him.

“Say that again.”

“I think you should go with them.”

“Sorry, I thought I heard you wrong. Did you just say you think I should go with them?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. I think there’s a problem with that statement.”

“What?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU’RE ABLE TO THINK AND SAY SOMETHING SO STUPID SIMULTANEOUSLY.”

“It’s not stupid.” Mark gave an unaffected, thoughtful look. “But I do agree that you’ve misunderstood the statement.”

“Okay. _Fine. Please_. Save me the trouble and kindly explain it to me.” Eduardo sneered. “In plain English, please.”

“You have superhuman powers.” Mark began with a gesture that silently said this was a very crucial point.

“Yeah.”

“And there are other… superhumans out there.”

“ _Yes_.”

“And they want to take you to a school that teaches you how to use your powers.”

“Mark, when I said explain it in plain English, I DIDN’T MEAN POINT OUT THE STUFF THAT I ALREADY KNOW.”

“Wardo, listen to me.” The vague tang of Twizzlers dulled Eduardo’s senses as Mark hovered closer to him. “Since we’ve met, there hasn’t been a week that you haven’t complained about how you wanted things to change, how you wanted a life of your own, to make decisions on your own. I know because I listen to you when I’m too tired to code.” Mark ignored the affronted look that glared at him, but it instantly deflated by Mark’s next words. “This is your chance to find a way out.”

“Mark, I can’t just leave Harvard and go with a bunch of strangers to some place I’m not even sure exists.”

“Yes, Wardo.” Mark replied. “That’s the point. You can.”

“How can you even be so sure—”

“He showed me.”

“Who showed you what?”

“Professor Xavier, the guy with the brown hair who smiles a lot. He showed me the school.”

“When?”

“This morning, before I took the flight back here.”

An overwhelming numbness crawled in different points of muscle of Eduardo’s body. He grasped a handful of his hair and viciously bit his lip if only to keep his brain and his ability to speak from shutting down entirely.

“He was the one who brought you here?” The simple answer of Mark’s nodding couldn’t have looked so dreadful and discouraging to Eduardo.

“He was also the one who told me about all the cool stuff you can do.”

“How did you even cross paths with this guy?”

Mark only shrugged. “I was looking for a can of Mountain Dew in the kitchen, someone was at the door, and it was him.”

“At five in the morning?”

“Five thirty.”

“In the house? Back in California?”

Mark’s eyes swerved from the Tony Stark poster by the bathroom to the half-opened window by the bed. “Where else?”

Eduardo released his hair with a tired sigh and hoped with firm conviction that the numbness trailing after the pain was strong enough to paralyze his brain. “Mark, why would you even go _anywhere_ with a thirty-year-old man who’d just appeared on your doorstep at five in the morning?”

“Five thirty.”

“ _Whatever!”_

“Like I said, he showed me.”

“Eisenhardt said the school was in New York. How can he possibly take you halfway across the country, show you the school, get you back to Palo Alto and take a two-hour flight to Massachusetts in less than a few hours?!”

“Actually, I think it’s safe to assume that Satan from the library was a teleporter.”

“But you just said that you took a flight!”

“I took a flight because I didn’t want to teleport with Satan, okay? I’ve not technically been a saint the last ten years so I didn’t think it was a good idea to go with someone with red skin and a very sharp tail, who can teleport.”

“How is that even relevant? You don’t believe in the devil, or God for that matter!”

“I’m Jewish.”

“You’re a hypocrite!”

“That’s an insult.”

“You don’t look insulted!”

“I’m pointing out that the statement was an insult, not that I’m insulted.”

“Wh—” Eduardo exhaled. “How did we even— Why are we even –” His inability to form complete sentences only further proved to Eduardo that the conversation had no kind intentions planned for him. He was also beginning to notice that inhaling and exhaling thoroughly had no effect on his jittery nerves. “Can we just take a few steps back in this conversation? Because I think I’m about this close –” Eduardo held two, trembling fingers up to Mark – “to losing it. And I’m really not looking forward to that. So.”

It was a dreadful moment of silence that made Eduardo regret all the times that he’d cursed his wristwatch. The ticking was a comfort, particularly when he was dealing with Mark and this was justifiable for two reasons. One, the ticking gave him a grasp of time. Two, it filled in the rotting air that Mark often left vacant.

“You were telling me that he showed you the school.” Eduardo reminded him, resting his back against the door and only barely keeping himself from banging his head against the wood.

“He did. But he didn’t take me to New York.”

“What? Did he show you like a pamphlet or something?”

“No.” Eduardo ignored the vague rush of bliss that surged his insides at the sight of Mark’s doubtful frown. No one should be that pathetic to feel so relieved or contented from a brief rise of emotion. But Eduardo immediately lost the desire to scold himself when Mark plainly told him, “Don’t you know? He’s a telepath.”

“Sorry, what?”

“He can read and mentally communicate with minds.”

“ _I know what it means_. I was just hoping that it was a slip of the tongue.”

Mark blinked at him. “I’m not likely prone to Freudian slips.”

“Forget it— Mark, you just told me that the guy’s a _telepath_. Someone who can _manipulate_ minds.” Eduardo shook his head frantically. "Do you know how many ways things could’ve gone – _could go_ wrong?! I don’t even know where to start at this point! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I thought you knew. To be honest, I don’t really understand why you’re being paranoid about this.”

“ _Mark._ That guy can—”

“I know that. But you gotta see the things he showed—”

“That could've been, like, false projection! He could’ve given you a fake image or something!”

“He can, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He’s not that kind of guy.”

“How can you be so fucking sure?! For all you know, he could be just –”

“Wardo.” There wasn’t a distinct change in tone or stress. Mark said his name in a way that he always had but Eduardo never could understand why his name being uttered _in such a way_ always silenced him completely, why it was just enough to still the rage in his nerves and convince his heart rate to a steady pace. Here was Mark, looking up at him with wide, clear, unbothered eyes and all Eduardo could do was lose himself to the deep shade of blue and green. “I’m sure.”

“Mark…” Eduardo breathed helplessly.

“I’m just sure.” Mark pressed on. “Trust me.” Just like that, with two simple words, Eduardo’s paranoia took a bullet and turned to dust. Most of it, anyway.

“Alright, fine. He’s a good guy.” Eduardo said with a defeated sigh. “So why don’t you tell me this. Why can’t I just get rid of the powers?” Eduardo asked, fumbling with the edges of his torn shirt. “They're right. I don’t know how to control it, I don’t even know what to do with it and because of that, I can put other people in danger. So why not just give it up?”

“Because you’re not an idiot, Wardo. An idiot would be someone stupid enough to give up the ability to climb walls and sit on ceilings, and have super enhanced senses, and defy the physical laws by jumping super far – which you totally have to show me, by the way – An idiot would, also, be someone really, really stupid enough to want a skinny, bony figure instead of a four-pack and toned muscles.”

However strong the wave of heat that slithered and boiled every vein in his body, or dark the blush that was probably blanketing the majority of his face and chest, Eduardo wouldn’t have the amount of brain cells to have noticed because all his mind could ingest was the evident – very, very evident – fact that Mark’s eyes were lowered and glued on his exposed skin, particularly the four-pack mentioned, with a quirk on the corner of his lips.

As soon as it appeared, however, the small smile flipped into a sudden frown. “Would you like another reason?”

Eduardo’s mouth parted, mimicking the pair of thin, pinkish lips his eyes were stubbornly centering on. “What?”

“Would you like me to give you another reason why you should keep your superhuman abilities?”

“Sure.” Eduardo barely managed to breathe out his answer when he felt fingers brush his lower hip, applying a tender pressure that willed his lungs to collapse into a useless, balloon rubber that even sucking in air proved to be difficult because all he could take in was a skip of a breath.

His head jerked down and found Mark’s hand loosely hanging on his side, thumb gently stroking the long gash of abused skin that remained dark and damaged. “I never told you how much I hated your dad after you showed this to me that night in freshmen year.”

The soft caress of Mark’s fingers summoned a delicate warmth that gradually sank through Eduardo’s scar and swelled in his insides. Mark’s eyes remained on his hip, a sad wrinkle troubling between his eyebrows, equally matching the lingering frown curving his mouth.

Eduardo parted his lips but found that words escaped him.

“I never…”But Mark’s teeth had already caught his lip, and with a final trace of touch, his hand drifted away from Eduardo’s skin, drawing back to hide in his hoodie until a larger, tanner hand grasped it back.

It was a loose hold. But Mark made no move to let go.

“You never what…?” Eduardo muttered, keeping his eyes occupied with the entwined hands. An intoxicating need lingered in the shadows of his mind, wakening enough nerve in Eduardo to slide fingers upon the calm pulse on the pale wrist, and chance soft strokes against the dry curve of the pale palm with a thumb. “You never what, Mark…?”

Inhale. Exhale. Silence. Inhale. “I never get to ask you to stay in the dorm during breaks… with me. Even though I promised myself I would.”

Eduardo couldn’t hide the smile. “Mark, I’ve been spending breaks in my dorm, at Eliot.” Eduardo nodded to the window, only because he’d much rather prefer his hands where they were. “Right across the street. I told you that.”

“Yes. I know.” Mark eyes seemed fixated on the cup of pens and pencils beside his computer as he said, “I meant here. In my dorm.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I mean, I was practically living on your couch every weekend and keeping your fridge from going empty since you never bothered to leave your room. Ever.”

“I was coding.” Mark answered with a terrible show of defiance, but the familiar reply had given Eduardo enough reason to draw his hand away.

It brought about a question that glared holes through Eduardo’s subconscious.

He forced out the rock that was rapidly forming in his throat and turned it into words. “What about Facebook?” Eduardo said, avoiding Mark’s face from entering his line of sight as he grazed his palm against the back of his slacks to brush away the trail of tepid nerves left by those pale fingers that were now confined in Mark’s hoodie.

“What about it?” Mark said and Eduardo noted the slight depth in his tone.

“Mark, if I’m going to that school, you and I both know it’s gonna be impossible—”

“It doesn’t matter.” The words cut through Eduardo’s voice, and pierced deeper through his insides.

“What does that mean?” Eduardo hands tightened into fists. “Mark, tell me what that means.” He repeated bitterly, barely noticing Mark taking a step back.

“It means the company will do just fine –”

“Without me. The company will do just fine without me. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Eduardo snarled.

“Wardo, we have over 300,000 members in 160 schools, including—”

“I’m aware of that.”

“— five in Europe –”

“I’m aware of that, Mark! I’m the _CFO_!”

“— and Sean even thinks—”

“ _Sean._ ” The name was enough to simmer his blood to a dangerous degree that Eduardo forced himself to walk pass Mark until he was by the bed, if only to place a safe distance between Mark and Eduardo’s need to run his fists against something. “Sean’s not part of this company.”

“He got us a meeting with a big investor last week—”

“What?”

“Sean got us a meeting with Peter Thiel.”

“Why’s he setting up meetings?”

“Thiel might want to make an angel investment—”

“I don’t care if he’s an actual angel, why’s he setting up business meetings?”

“Wardo, he got us meetings all around town —”

“All around… He set up other meetings?”

“Yes.”

Eduardo gritted his teeth. “Were you ever going to— when were you going to tell me?!”

“You’re going to New York, you have the internship coming, you said it’s important to you. I didn’t want to say anything until you got to California –”

“Mark.” Eduardo pressed fingers against his forehead. “I’m the business end of this company. I had a right to _know_.” With a tired sighed, he added, “I do not want that guy representing himself as part of this company.”

“He’s done a lot for us, Wardo. We wouldn’t be in this level of success without him—”

“I DON’T CARE.” Eduardo barked at the seemingly blank face that stared back at him. “I want him out.” He muttered.

Mark fell silent, a vulnerable tinge sparking from his eyes as he frowned helplessly at Eduardo. “Do you want to jeopardize the company?”

Eduardo swallowed the urge to bark out all his anger and, instead, grazed his palm against his forehead to wear out the raging energy. “I’m the CFO of the company, Mark. I've made an independent investment to start up this company with my own money. So, don’t you dare assume that this isn’t as important to me as it is to you.”

Mark feebly shook his head. “If it was that important to you, you would’ve been in California doing your job. Not Sean.”

White noise resonated through his ears, echoing the words in a constant, loudening loop that wouldn’t fade the slightest even as Eduardo shook his head in an attempt to silence it. “What did you just say?” He mumbled, voice broken.

“The site needs him now.” Then, Eduardo realized something through Mark's words; an ugly realization that pierced him with a numbing feeling.

“Is that why you want me to go with these guys? So that you can replace me with Sean?”

“I want you to go with them because this is a better opportunity for you than Facebook.” Mark said, eyes lined with Eduardo’s feet.

"A better opportunity?" Eduardo snarled. "Alright. Fine. Since you made it impeccably clear that I'm no longer needed, I might as well freeze the account, right? After all, it's my money."

“Wardo, if the meeting doesn’t go well, the site will rot. The money will rot. Everything – all our hard work will go down the drain. If I cancel it, things will get far worse faster than we can control it.”

"So, what do you want me to do?! You want me to roll over and play dead for _Sean_? So he can bend over and kiss some ass in Wall Street?"

"I'm not asking you to do anything, but Sean is staying in Facebook." Feebly, Mark added, "And he's going to handle the business end from now on."

Eduardo couldn't move. He didn't dare move.

"If freezing the account makes it easier for you, then I won't stop you. If we don't get the investment, Sean can find others. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

“Mark—”

“But I’d rather face that risk on my own than have you bruised again.” It was only then that Eduardo noticed Mark wasn’t staring down at his feet, but at his left hip. At his scar.

"Wardo, these people can protect you. I can't."

The words gripped Eduardo’s throat.

 **  
**

**:: :: ::**

 **  
**

 

Thirty minutes later…

“I’d like to see my parents about this first.” Eduardo said once he opened the door and found Eisenhardt and Xavier seated together on the couch. “And I need to have a talk with my father.”

“Lovely!” Xavier exclaimed, earning a reprimanding glare from Eisenhardt when he made a move to stand. “It’d be best if Erik and I come along so that we can brief them about the proposal.”

“You should know, Mr. Saverin, that, since you’re of legal age, the final decision remains entirely yours, regardless of your parents’ response. Especially your father’s.” Eisenhardt began, ignoring the soft disapproval from his partner.

“I understand.” Eduardo answered, walking towards the settee to retrieve his blazer because as much as he was enjoying walking around and flaunting his new form, being in the presence of two men, one being insanely conservative, was too awkward to bare.

“When will you be seeing them?” Xavier asked.

“I’d probably book a flight tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you sure? We have a teleporter with us who’s willing to save you the trouble and the cost.” Eduardo slipped a glance to Mark and bit the smile from forming as he spotted the light blush.

“Thanks, but I’ve already bought a ticket to New York. It’s non-refundable, so I might as well use the credit for a flight to Florida.”

“Understandable.” Xavier said before turning to Mark with a smile. “And how about you, Mark? I promise you Azazel has no relations at all with the devil. In fact, he’s quite a charming character.”

“When he’s not threatening to kill you.” Eisenhardt smiled.

“ _Erik._ ”

“That’s really nice of you, but I’d like to take the flight with Wardo.” As an afterthought, Mark added to Xavier, “No offense to Azazel.”

“Wait. You’re taking the flight with me?” Eduardo asked with a confused frown.

Mark looked at him as though he’d just stated the most obvious of things. “Yes.”

“To Florida?”

Blink. “Yes.”

“To see my parents?”

“You have a knack for stating the obvious.”

“Mark, what about Facebook?”

“I already texted Dustin that I won’t be back till Monday.”

“Mark, you know you don’t have to come.”

“I want to.” It continued to surprise Eduardo that Mark had the natural ability to say the simplest things that held the deepest of meanings without becoming aware of it.

 **  
**

**:: :: ::**

 **  
**

 

When plans were made and agreements were settled, Eisenhardt and his partner took their leave with a promise to meet for breakfast the following morning.

Eduardo spent the night in Kirkland, H33, on the couch.

Mark’s door remained open.

As he settled down the springy cushions, wearing the largest set of clothes Mark owned (an oversized P. E. shirt and sweatpants), and tucked in Mark’s spare blankets and pillows, Eduardo removed his eyes from the ceiling and turned to the doorway.

“Thanks.”

Bundled in his sheets, Mark only shrugged.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Wardo?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you punch the professor?”

Immediately, Eduardo redirected his eyes back to the ceiling and pulled the blanket up to his chest to cover the blush surfacing his skin. “I thought it was the fencer again.”

“The fencer?”

“The guy who bullied you with a sword.”

“Sabre.”

“Whatever. I thought he was hurting you, Xavier I mean.” Eduardo shook his head, and added quitely, “I much prefer that actually.”

Tick. Tick. Tick. “You much prefer that he hurt me.”

“No!”

"You just said-"

"You know what I meant."

Silence.

“I'm honestly lost.” Eduardo could practically feel Mark blinking in confusion.

“Mark. The guy was hitting on you.”

Silence. “I didn’t know scientifically describing my hair was a seduction technique.”

“He was touching your hair. And he was standing too close.”

“So you thought it was socially acceptable to break his nose. Because he was hitting on me.”

“I thought he was _hurting_ you!”

“By touching my hair. And standing too close.”

“I apologized just before they left! And Eisenhardt had already burned me with my own watch enough times anyway so I think it’s _socially acceptable_ to call it even.”

Silence. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Dustin rumples my hair every five minutes every day, which is really annoying now that I think about it. And Chris sleeps on me a lot when he studies for a test. You never punch them.”

“That’s because Chris and Dustin are our friends. They wouldn’t hurt you no matter how annoyed you get.”

“What if they hit on me?”

“ _Please_. Dustin? The same Dustin who jerks off on Angelina Jolie practically every night and whose lifetime ambition is to get a blowjob from Pamela Anderson? That Dustin?”

“Okay. Point made.” Tick. Tick. “What about Chris?”

“Mark.” Eduardo groaned.

“Chris is gay.”

“Chris is dating someone.”

“Chris is always dating someone. That’s not the point.”

“Where exactly are you going with this?”

“I’m just asking if you’re gonna punch Chris if he decides to hit on me. Or date me.”

“You’re not exactly Chris’s type. He goes for the brunette and the athletic sort. You don’t actually fit the picture.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Wardo.”

“Good night, Mark.”

It was only after Mark’s breathing calmed with light snores did Eduardo finally released a long, labored breath and allowed his eyes to drift close, the ticking of his wristwatch submerging him to sleep, and the Twizzler-scented pillows carrying a promise of satisfying dreams.

Tick. Tick. Tick. For the record, he would. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Punch Chris, that is. Tick. Tick.

Tick. And apologize after. Tick.

Maybe. Tick.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, criticism, and kudos are welcome and encouraged.
> 
> Beta'd? No, for you must realize that, although I am an elder in the practice of reading fanfics, writing a completely flawless fanfic is but a dream that I will hopelessly pursue with my infant imagination.
> 
> However, should a jedibeta take me as their apprentice, I shall forever be honored, dear lady/sir.


End file.
